Kingdom of Nothing
by aetherling
Summary: A year after the events of B/W 1, N returns to Unova bent on converting the entire region to follow his ideas of Pokemon liberation through mass inception. Alder plans a counter-inception with Black, but will the mission be completed when Black's late twin starts showing up?
1. the king is returning

**Title:** Kingdom of Nothing  
**Author:** aetherling  
**Verse:** Gameverse Gen 5—post B/W1  
**Characters/Pairings:** Black/The Extractor - N/The Mark - Bianca/The Architect - Cheren/The Point Man - Looker/The Forger - Fennel/The Chemist - Alder/The Tourist - White/The Shade  
**Rating:** PG-13  
**Warnings:** Two established character deaths before our story starts, violence, death, "death", and a minor case of underage drinking  
**Summary:** A year after the events of B/W 1, N returns to Unova bent on converting the entire region to follow his ideas of Pokemon liberation through mass inception. Alder plans a counter-inception with Black, but will the mission be completed when Black's late twin starts showing up?  
**Notes:** Inception as played by Pokemon characters.

I. the king is returning

* * *

It takes Black nearly an hour to slip into a fine summer nap beneath the shade of an oak tree, but only half a second for his ringing Xtransceiver to jerk him awake. Silently wishing electronic death to the device, he rolls himself onto his stomach before jabbing at "Accept".

"Black." Before Black could even register Cheren and Bianca's faces on his screen, or even mumble something incoherent back in greeting, Cheren says, "Ghestis is dead."

He is glad he doesn't have to say anything because questions start pouring out of Bianca's mouth. "Wait, what? How? When did this happen? Why so suddenly? Did they find him before or after he died? Where was he found? What's going to happen to Team Plasma, and what about N, does he kn—"

"Bianca, breathe," Cheren interrupts. "And Black, please turn your brain on at some point, you look like a zombie."

"I was napping," Black says. Even to his sleepy mind, that sounded lame.

"I know," Cheren returns with a hint of triumph.

There is a small pause before Bianca speaks up again, "I'm done breathing so start spilling, Cheren."

With a more business-like air, Cheren continues, "Right. _These_ articles just came online less than an hour ago" —Black hears Bianca's notification sound before he sees a few links appear on his screen— "so it looks like at least his body was discovered recently, but they're all saying the same thing: 'Swimmers reported a body floating in Undella Bay this morning'; 'Identified as a high-ranking Team Plasma member'; 'Cause of death yet unknown'. Oh, here's a photo—"

"Whaa," Bianca breaks in quickly. "Don't send it to me; I'm not in the mood to see a dead body today."

Black hears Bianca's notification sound go off again before Cheren says, "Too late."

Bianca groans, "I'm not clicking on that."

Black quickly pulls the photo up on his screen, and is surprised by its serene nature. There was the former leader of Team Plasma, fully robed and lying in a simple boat floating innocently in Undella Bay. He could have been mistaken for sleeping in an unusual setting; what with his hands clasped together and resting on his chest like a dead person. White flowers framed his body, and hanging on the bow near his head was a hat.

"It's ok, Bianca," says Black. "He's not rotting. He's just spilling his bloody guts while Sharpedos nibble at his fing—" Bianca's side of the screen violently shakes as she plugs her ears and shouts, "Nooo, you don't have to tell me!"

"Very funny, Black," Cheren says. "As much as I'm glad to see you've finally rebooted your brain—Bianca, he was joking, it's not that bad, just look—this is a serious matter—"

But Black is not listening. His eyes are focused on the object hanging off the boat. "That's N's hat," he murmurs.

"What?" At last, curiosity overcame trepidation and Bianca opens the photo. "Oh, wow. It's like a funeral barge."

"_His_ hat, huh?" says Cheren. "I bet he was the one responsible for the flowers and the boat."

"He's come back, then," says Black thoughtfully. Then he frowns. It can't be a coincidence. Lately, there has been an alarming increase of news reports about Pokemon theft on the rise—and stories of strangely clothed people preaching Pokemon liberation from city to city, and now Ghestis' death, N's return...they must be connected somehow. Black can tell from Bianca and Cheren's faces that they are thinking the same thing.

"We still don't know much," Bianca admits.

"We can get more information when the autopsy reports are released," says Cheren. "But for now, let's keep our eyes and ears open. I'm betting Team Plasma is behind the Pokemon thefts, so stay safe you two."

"Oh, don't worry! I can be Cheren and Black's bodyguard!" Bianca assures excitedly. "And together we will protect all Trainers and Pokemon from any sort of abduction!"

"Bianca, don't get carried away with this," Cheren warns.

"Ohh, we can be like, superheroes you know? Protecting Unova from the bad guys!"

"No."

"Aww, don't be like that! I'll let you choose your theme color first!"

"Black, please make her stop."

Black shrugs.

* * *

Night falls slowly on Unova, and it is only twilight when Black arrives in Striation City. He stays in a room at the Pokemon Center, but it's no use—he can't sleep. Cheren and Bianca aren't helping either—all the messages they keep sending him make his Xtransceiver flash (he had put it on silent mode a long time ago), and Black is not one to ignore messages.

.

To: Black (black_yang)  
From: Cheren (cheren1)

Okay, someone needs to stop Bianca. She's assigned us colors and now she wants to design outfits. I'm afraid I don't fancy wearing my briefs over my pants. I don't fancy this at all.

To: Black (black_yang)  
From: Cheren (cheren1)

Please don't tell me you're asleep again.

To: Black (black_yang)  
CC: Cheren (cheren1)  
From: Bianca (biancabel)

hi black! i noe black is ur name but ure read

To: Black (black_yang)  
CC: Cheren (cheren1)  
From: Bianca (biancabel)

i mean red

To: Black (black_yang)  
CC: Cheren (cheren1)  
From: Bianca (biancabel)

cherens blue. he didnt want a color tho. i wanted to make him pink but i decided to be nice and pick a boring color for him but he doesnt appreicate

To: Bianca (biancabel)  
From: Black (black_yang)

that's b/c he secretly wants hot pink  
don't take no for an answer

To: Black (black_yang)  
From: Cheren (cheren1)

I'm setting a reminder on my Xtransceiver now so I'll remember to physically hurt you next time we meet

.

Black finally puts his Xtransceiver away, but the brief exchange he had is not enough to lull him to sleep. Maybe a stroll through the Dreamyard will help, he reasons, and he walks out of the center right into a Team Plasma rally.

"Citizens of Striation! We of Team Plasma herald the return of our king!"

Black flashes back to over a year ago when the exact same thing happened-as a rookie Trainer he had walked out of the Pokemon Center and right into the middle of Ghestis' speech about Pokemon liberation. Except this time, Ghestis is not present; it's just a couple of Plasma grunts addressing a small crowd.

"And in turn, his return shall herald a new age, an age of Pokemon liberation, in which humans cease the disgusting enslavement of Pokemon and Pokemon shall finally be treated as they should be—as whole, equal beings!

"He shall bring a world where the concept of human 'masters' and Pokemon 'slaves' will only exist as a shameful stain in the history books; where humans live in a separate world from Pokemon.

"He shall bring unto us and Pokemon—separate paradises!"

The crowd is restless and people are muttering among themselves. "Bunch of crazies," one man near Black says under his breath before walking away.

"He shall bring the age of Pokemon liberation to Unova, then to the rest of the world! He will spread his paradise to the stars, if he must!"

Black hears a voice snicker behind him. "Ingested one too many Tinymushrooms, I bet."

"This change shall happen. No matter if you think otherwise, the day will come when everyone will willingly release their Pokemon. It is our king's wishes, prior to his glorious return, to have his loyal servants advise the masses to release your Pokemon now. And to those who refuse to follow his word, he warns of a dark day when you lie in bed and realize you find no comfort in dreams, and your heart shall grow heavy in your chest, and your mind shall always be restless—until you release your Pokemon.

"Heed his words. Fear his warning. That is all."

Black watches the Plasma grunts disassemble their standard before they march away. They lacked Ghestis' charisma and finesse with words, but they have something else—a threat. But too many pieces of the puzzle are still missing. The crowd has already dissipated and there is no point in standing in the middle of the street, so Black walks slowly into the Dreamyard.

Even at this hour, there are a few trainers battling or looking for new night Pokemon to catch in the Dreamyard. But the ever-present mist clouds the area and dulls the noises of battle. To Black, it's like walking through a dream. He instinctively looks to his side and sees no one there.

"You're not dreaming," he tells himself. "Not yet."

And it's so tempting to give into the Dreamyard's invitation-to stop for a bit and close his eyes and let the Dream Mist see what dreams run through his head. Maybe if he's lucky, his dream will come true, but only a fool would believe the unorganized mist will defy the laws of thermodynamics and by pure chance, assemble into a concentrated form to make one person's dream reality. Black slides down onto a soft patch of moss and breathes in the damp air deeply. His eyes are closed when he exhales, and in a matter of seconds, he is already dreaming.

* * *

The room is large and vaguely familiar. Black knows he's been here before, perhaps more than once. A throne sits at the end of the room, but remains empty. Black is standing in the middle of the room and he can see how wrecked it is. Parts of the ceiling are missing, revealing the tumultuous red sky; every window is shattered, and colored glass bleeds on the floor. It must have been a grand room once, fit for the coronation of a king.

Black looks toward the throne again and this time, he sees N standing with Reshiram looming behind him. N is looking in Black's direction, but he's not looking at Black. A girl's voice laughs behind his ear, "What are we dreaming about now?" and Black turns—

* * *

—and he is abruptly pulled from his dream by a Team Plasma grunt. Literally—the grunt—

"What—Whoa, _get your hands off my pants_!"

"Quiet! It's not like th—OW!" Black lands an effective punch across the grunt's face, but the grunt still has one hand on Black's belt while the other hand nurses his bruise. "I'm only liberating your Pokemo—"

The grunt makes an extremely unpleasant squeal when Black slams his knee into his assaulter's groin, and he finally detaches from Black completely. Black proceeds to shove the grunt off him and gets up before he can be caught on his back again.

"Don't worry Black, I'll save you!"

Black barely has time to register who or where the voice came from when a powerful force slams him face-down into the ground. He is temporarily blinded by the stinging on his face and hopes his nose is not broken.

"Sorry, I missed!" He recognizes the voice now; it's Alder, who is lifting the Plasma grunt by his collar. "Alright pal, you better start explaining why you're attempting to molest a minor in a Plasma uniform. If this is some weird new fetish—"

"No, it's nothing like that!" cries the Team Plasma grunt as he struggles in Alder's grasp. "I was liberating his oppressed Pokemon—in the name of the king—"

"I thought your king didn't support this sort of behavior," Alder growls in his face. "Unless this is what his return means? The return of petty Pokemon thievery? Did he command you to do this?"

But the grunt strikes Alder's nose in his struggles and Alder immediately recoils, cursing and dropping the grunt. The grunt scampers away and the mist obscures his escape route. Alder curses again, rubbing his nose.

"Ah, my nose stings," Alder grits out from between his teeth. "He didn't steal your Pokemon now, did he?"

"No, I didn't bring any."

Alder smacks the back of Black's head lightly. "What are you doing, sleeping unprotected in a place like this? Are you inviting people like him to take advantage of you?"

Black scowls. "I had it all under control until you smashed my nose into the ground."

Alder gives a hearty laugh. "Oh right. My apologies for that but _you should not have been sleeping in such a dangerous place in the first place_! If you need a place to stay, come with me." Alder grabs Black's arm and half-drags him, ignoring Black's protests.

* * *

a.n: ff .net's formatting hates me and i hate it back


	2. a dream job

II. a dream job

* * *

It is a given fact that there are several questions and puzzles in life that will never be answered during the short lifespan of a human, or for the entire duration of the universe's existence. Alder's hair, Black decides, is one of them. Black is staring intensely at Alder as if his gaze alone will deconstruct the components of Alder's flaming, gravity-defying hair, while Alder kicks back and relaxes on a somber-looking sofa. It's such a stark contrast—the gray of the sofa just does not blend with the flam—colorful man occupying its cushions. Black is not entirely sure if it's his sofa anyways. Or if they're really in Alder's apartment, what with the way he just snapped off the doorknob earlier when he "couldn't find his keys".

"Refreshments?"

"I don't think it's very nice to steal food from people whose apartments you've broken into."

"Nonsense, this is my apartment, can't you tell? I even have it decorated with uh...well, could you help me identify what these hanging thingies are?" Alder is looking at what could best be described as "hanging thingies" hanging on the far wall behind Black. To him, they looked like fake brightly colored vines choking each other in a giant tangle, and the owner meticulously hung them so the loose ends don't look like they're just hanging. Black will never understand interior design.

"Contemporary art," is all he can suggest.

"Oh really?" Alder raises an eyebrow. "Then we must appreciate it more! Black, you're not showing your proper respects to contemporary art with that expression—hurry to the kitchen and fetch the imported wine along with two wine glasses. In the presence of contemporary art, we must be _classy_."

"But you're the host—"

"Ah schematics," Alder waves it away. "Perhaps I will resume proper host duties when my lips are sweetened with some alcoholic grape juice. So, chop-chop!"

Black reluctantly goes into the kitchen and finds exactly one bottle of wine in a glass cabinet along with several shot glasses. He shrugs to himself and grabs the bottle and two shot glasses.

Alder is absentmindedly drumming his fingers on the left armrest of the miserable couch and holding a corkscrew in his other hand when Black returns to the living room. As Black hands over the wine bottle for him to open, he is tempted to ask the Champion if he normally carries a corkscrew with him just in case he ever gets the urge to break into a stranger's apartment and steal their wine like right now, but then Alder asks, "Weren't there any wine glasses?"

"I checked. Didn't find any," Black says, not completely truthful.

"Oh." Alder shrugs nonchalantly. "Ok." The cork is removed with a small pop and he begins pouring for both. "Sit down; why are you standing? We can't enjoy our drinks if one of us is standing. It's a nice couch and the right armrest is so lonely. Please."

"You're not concerned about illegally providing a minor with alcohol?" Black asks with a wry smile as he settles by Alder's side and takes the extended drink.

"Well, since you are already accusing me of breaking into a stranger's home—which let me remind you, is honestly and sincerely mine—what's one more law broken? Besides, you're the one who brought two shot glasses. So, cheers." They clink and drain their glasses.

"You are such a stellar role model for a Champion," Black remarks.

"Ohh, you sound like Cheren right now. Don't tell me his serious attitude is actually rubbing off on you, it's supposed to be the least infectious." Alder pours another round and Black wishes he has some sort of food to scrub the bitter taste out.

"If I were Cheren, I wouldn't have even set foot in this place and be your accomplice in crime."

"Haha! Oh, he is such a fuddy-duddy." Alder goes ahead and downs his shot while Black is sitting there thinking "_fuddy-duddy?_" to himself. "Ahem. Mm. Now, does the hanging thingy look different after two shots?"

Black quickly drains his glass before replying, "Absolutely not."

Alder shrugs again. "More?"

"I'd rather not—" Black starts but Alder cuts him off.

"Cookies! I nearly forgot I had these." Alder pulls out a wrinkled silver bag from one of his many hidden pockets and dumps the contents directly onto the pristine surface of the coffee table. None of the cookies that emerge are entirely intact. "Oh, they crumbled," says Alder sadly. "Brycen made these."

"Wait,_ Bry_—"

"He wouldn't be happy if I didn't finish them. Anyways, sorry I forgot about pairing food with this fine wine. The cookies should help, I think. Sweet with...sweet, right?" And Alder starts pouring the 3rd round of shots.

Black does not want to tell Alder that he's completely wrong about his particular selection of food, lest he give something away about his life choices, but figures the cookies will at least help wash the alcohol down. And he is somewhat right—right when both of them bite into relatively intact pieces of cookie, they simultaneously gag and reach for their glasses.

"Oh Arceus, _what is wrong with these cookies_?" Alder cries after he has emptied his glass at record speed, and frantically pours himself and Black another round.

"I am"—Black starts before draining his 4th shot—"never accepting any food from you ever again."

"It's not my fault! I didn't make these. Okay, maybe they...got stale or something after a few months—" Black groans and cradles his head queasily in between his hands at this "—but that's probably because Brycen didn't put enough preservatives or something."

"You don't need preservatives in homemade cookies, you just need common sense and not shove them in some obscure pocket and forget them for Arceus knows how long!" Good grief, Black realizes, I sound like a fussy old housewife. Or Cheren. He can't help it though, not when there's still the taste of...otherworldliness in his mouth, if otherworldliness means Distortion Worldliness and toxic waste was its main export. Black is about to tell Alder this pretty sweet metaphor but when he sees Alder sitting still without meeting Black's eyes, he wonders for a brief moment if the cookies are actually poisoned.

"Hey...Cha-Alder, you alright?"

"Hm, yes. Actually, I just remembered." Alder faces Black with a glint in his eye. "I have a job offer for you."

Black is taken aback by the sudden change in Alder. "Uh, what?" he asks lamely.

"I'm offering you a job," Alder replies, looking almost hurt at Black's lack of enthusiasm.

"I'm not drunk and hearing things, am I?"

"Not sure about the first one, but no, you're not hearing things."

"...And you're not drunk are you?"

"I have more tolerance than you, youngster! This was only a refresher." He holds up the bottle for Black to see.

Black runs a hand down his face in a physical attempt to make sense of everything. "Okay, I'll ask. What. And why."

"Well, nothing too complicated. As you know, being Champion carries...a lot of duties and responsibilities."

"Uh-huh," says Black, not entirely convinced this laid-back man ever took said duties and responsibilities seriously.

"And with so many responsibilities to fulfill, sometimes one Champion isn't enough."

"Ok." Black is feeling nice and warm from the wine.

"So I'm asking you if you can help this old man with some of his duties."

"Mm-hm." It's so easy with his mind on autopilot.

"And I think you are exceptionally well-qualified to help me with this matter—"

"You still haven't told me what it is."

"I want you to help me stop N and Team Plasma's crazy quest."

"Yeah sure—" Black says without thinking.

"Through inception."

Black's heart nearly skips a beat. His mind abruptly turns off autopilot mode and the warm feelings evaporate too quickly from his body. He sits there dumbly, and his only solace is that he's not gaping at Alder and looking dumber.

"Are you sure you're not drunk?" he manages to croak, and oh Arceus, why did his voice crack just now, in front of the Champion. A Champion who's getting him tipsy and asking him to perform inception. The circumstances are too strange to make any sense even without alcohol, and next to him, Alder's smile is promising Black he will have to beg for at least half of the answers. Might as well start now, if he wants to get anywhere. Black rubs his face one more time and asks, "How did you know about inception?"

"Your father." Alder is facing straight ahead, looking at the hanging things, but his eyes are distant. "Many years ago. He told me about a special kind of dreaming. Dreams that are shared. Dreams where secrets are stolen. Great, beautiful, terrible dreams."

Black hears a hint of his father's voice from Alder's explanation, and smiles fondly at the recollection. "That's exactly how he told us about his 'side job'."

Alder smiles at him. "Yes, I knew he would tell his children too."

"Why would he tell you? He promised us certain doom if we even breathed a word about dream exploration to anyone else."

"Because it was his 'side job' that led him to seek refuge in Unova."

One of Black's earliest memories is of a large ship. Sometimes he can almost taste the ocean air on his tongue and hear a girl laughing behind his ear as he stared into the infinite horizon and puked.

"I was barely one week into my title when he requested I pull a few strings and grant him sanctuary for him and his family. In exchange, he said he was going to help me defend my mind from the most skilled of extractors. Which was him, of course," Alder chuckles, "because apparently when you're Champion, you invite a lot of dangers both outside and inside your mind. You tend to pick up a few secrets here and there as Champion. Especially when you agree to sneak a criminal into the region."

"So my father militarized your mind?"

"That's what he was supposed to do. He took me into the world of dream-share and showed me the basics. Building a defense around the secret you want hidden. Breaking the laws of physics. Bending reality. And on the last day I saw him, he asked me if his side job—extraction—is possible, shouldn't the other way round work as well? Inception. It never left my mind, even after the dreaming took him away."

"That's a nice way to put it."

"Ah, but he was a good man. With an affinity for pushing the limits of the dreaming."

"So you think because my father's extraction skills got him to abandon his home, his son would inherit his mastery of dream exploitation?"

"That is a chance I am willing to invest in. If you're willing to take it."

Madness, Black thinks. Complete madness—Alder does not know the depth of Black's skills with dreams—or at least, he should not know. Logically, after his father's departure, Black would swear to never play with the fire he lost his father to, and figuratively bury dream-share deep into the ground. But he was still a child—a child with imagination—and he had no need for books or friends when he could create better worlds in his dreams.

And he wasn't always alone.

"So, why inception, particularly? Why not uh, extract N's most embarrassing memory and blackmail him into submission?"

"Well," and Alder gives him one of those mischievous smiles. "I have been tracking Team Plasma's activities for quite some time, and I too have been observing their little speeches around the region, and now I think it's quite safe to come to the conclusion that they're planning mass inception."

"What? Cheren, Bianca and I couldn't figure out their plan, how did you—"

"Oh," Alder laughs. "Right. I had Looker go undercover in Team Plasma to provide me some intel on their activities. I didn't know he would be so good at his job—in less than a year he's given me information from top Plasma members, and maybe from N himself. So, I am certain they will attempt mass inception—most likely from the Entralink, as it is located in the heart of Unova. Therefore, we shall counter-incept N, and in turn, N will command Team Plasma to stop the mass inception and their overall goal of Pokemon liberation."

Black is shaking his head. "You still haven't answered...why inception, of all things, why choose the one thing that's nearly impossible?"

"Isn't it poetic? We give him a taste of his own medicine. We fight back against Team Plasma with the same weapons they wield. One inception to end them all! No one is harmed, Team Plasma's king is finally convinced separating people and Pokemon is terrible, everyone lives happily ever after. Black, son of the greatest extractor in Unova at least, will you help me save Unova, and quite possibly, N, from his crazy idea?"

"I need to save you from your crazy idea first."

"Look. What if I told you that inception...it _is_ possible?"

"Really?" Black has to look into Alder's eyes now to make sure he wasn't lying. "You've done it before? What was the idea?"

"We didn't quite succeed—the idea didn't stick for long. It was too complex. But we were close. Very close. I think we can do it this time, if we keep the idea _simple_ enough."

"So in other words, you failed."

"No, we mustn't view our failures as dead ends. We learn from them. And we try again."

Black gives an exasperated sigh.

"So will you help me?"

Black shakes his head. "Sorry Alder."

"You haven't even heard about the rewards."

"I don't want money."

"I'm not offering you money. Black, I'm offering you an opportunity." Alder pours another round of shots, and hands Black a glass. "Drink?"

Black hesitates before finally accepting.

* * *

a.n: underage drinking warning. depends where you live. oh wait was this supposed to go before the chapter


	3. dream-sharing

III. dream-sharing

* * *

.

To: Black (black_yang)  
CC: Bianca (biancabel)  
From: Cheren (cheren1)

Congrats on the job.

To: Cheren (cheren1)  
From: Black (black_yang)

what  
how did you find out

To: Black (black_yang)  
From: Cheren (cheren1)

That's what I deciphered from your text last night.

—To: Cheren (cheren1)  
—From: Black (black_yang)

—hey cheron  
—aldwrs hair  
—he says its natursl  
—liek a galon of hairspray natrual

—To: Black (black_yang)  
—From: Cheren (cheren1)

—...It's 2:30 in the morning, Black.

—To: Cheren (Cheren1)  
—From: Black (black_yang)

—oops  
—but youre awkae  
—cheren  
—ald watns to ask if youll help me

—To: Black (black_yang)  
—From: Cheren (cheren1)

—I will not help you with your hangover.  
—Alder can deal with his poor judgement.

—To: Cheren (cheren1)  
—From: Black (black_yang)

—hey ar you kiding  
—im not evn tipsy  
—ugh  
—theses butoons are to smal  
—i mean  
—kick plsma butt  
—me yiu an banica  
—i mean bianca  
—alder wants to know if you'll help me take down plasma  
—yess  
—did you see thta  
—no typos

—To: Black (black_yang)  
—From: Cheren (cheren1)

—I will frame it and hang it on your wall for you.  
—Why is Alder asking you that?

—To: Cheren (cheren1)  
—From: Black (black_yang)

—cuz he's hiered me  
—to make n see poikemin liveraton  
—is stuopid  
—hang on  
—he's tangld in teh string thnig  
—brb

To: Cheren (cheren1)  
From: Black (black_yang)

i don't remember this  
i can't understand what i'm saying

To: Black (black_yang)  
From: Cheren (cheren1)

My sentiments exactly.  
Apparently you were either more coherent with Bianca, or she's an expert at reading typos.

To: Cheren (cheren1)  
From: Black (black_yang)

i was texting bianca too?  
dang

To: Black (black_yang)  
From: Bianca (biancabel)

4 the record, i congradtulated you 1st  
wanna meet up? it'll be easier to talk about your new job

.

* * *

And that is how Black finds himself sitting in an outdoor cafe when Cheren smacks the side of his head with a rolled up newspaper.

"That is for making me read through your stupid typos at 2 in the morning."

"What about your hot pink uniform?" asks Bianca unhelpfully.

"Right." And Cheren whacks Black again.

"Geez, no mercy for the hungover," Black grumbles, rubbing his head.

"That's not my fault," says Cheren as he and Bianca sit across the round table from Black. "You have no one to blame for your poor choice of actions except for yourself."

"How is it? Do you feel like eating anything? Did you throw up yet?" Bianca is too chipper for the hungover to deal with in the morning, Black thinks to himself, but he answers all the questions in the negative.

"Well, I wouldn't object to some coffee and eggs. Since you're employed, you can treat," says Cheren. Bianca adds, "I'll have bacon!" over Black's weak protests.

After they ordered breakfast (and a glass of water for Black), Bianca says, "Okay Black, time to spill your secrets. What are we gonna do to stop Team Plasma?"

Black takes a deep breath, and looks at Cheren, then Bianca.

"Inception."

Half of Cheren's eggs and all of Bianca's bacon are gone when Black finishes explaining everything. He's not sure how many glasses of water he drank since the waitress kept refilling it, but he knows his throat still feels really dry.

"So," Cheren starts. "You've been exploring dream-share with White for years but none of us knew about it. How did Alder know?"

"I'm not sure," Black admits. "I think...it was a really educated guess on his part? I think he knew there was a chance I would still be interested in dream-share after my father passed away...he knows it's not something you can easily forget."

"Have you ever performed an extraction before?"

"Once."

"Who was the target?"

"Some Plasma grunt. It was...her idea."

"How did it go?"

"We only had to go down one level of dreaming. We built a labyrinth so his subconscious projections couldn't find us while we extracted the secrets he put in our safe. That's how we found out Ghestis was calling all the shots in Team Plasma, not N as he led everyone to believe."

"It sounds so unreal," says Bianca. "If anyone else told me about inception or extraction, I would not have believed them for a minute. I mean, how would you create enough detail to fool N into thinking it's real? Wouldn't he notice at some point that he's dreaming?"

"Well, dreams seem real enough when we're in them. It's when we wake up we realize something strange was happening... And you never quite start at the beginning of a dream, you always start in the middle of it, unaware of how you got there. True?"

Bianca nods thoughtfully.

"Now how did we end up here?"

"Um," Bianca looks around the cafe. It seems innocuous enough. "We were...uh." She gasps a little. "We're dreaming?" Immediately, Cheren's fork rattles loudly against his plate as the world begins to shake around them.

"Right. We're in _your_ dream, to be precise." Black's glass of water topples over and the contents land on Bianca's lap.

She gasps. "If this is a dream, why can I feel that? What's going on?"

"The sensation is all _in your head_, your brain crea—" The surrounding tables collapse one after another, cutting Black off, and Cheren bolts out of his seat when the nearest table falls rather dramatically.

Black grabs Bianca's hand. "Bianca, calm down—" But Bianca looks like a deer trapped in headlights; she shakes her head at Black and mouths, "What?" And Black yells, "It's your dream, you can contr—"

* * *

Next thing he knows, he is staring at a white ceiling and lying on his back. Beside him, Bianca's body gives a jerk and her eyes fly wide open. "What?"

"As the dreamer, you're in control of the environment of the dream."

"Oh...I panicked. I'm sorry, I—"

"No, no, you did fine." Bianca starts to shake her head, but Black continues, "It was really impressive, you got most of the details on your first try—"

"And she managed to fool herself into thinking she wasn't dreaming." Cheren is sitting up from his reclined chair, giving Black a hard stare. "Black, what if we forget we're in a dream?"

"Don't worry, you'll wake when the sedative wears off," says a voice behind them.

Cheren twists around to look up at a dark-haired woman wearing a lab coat. "Professor Fennel? We're in your lab?"

"Yup! Who better to assist Black and Alder's dream mission than the Dream Mist researcher herself?" Professor Fennel walks up to Cheren and begins pulling a tube off his arm. Black and Bianca are wearing similar tubes as well, which connect to a peculiar-looking machine behind them.

"Professor, please," Black motions her to stop removing Cheren's tube, "give us another 5 minutes."

"'Another' 5 minutes? We were talking for at least an hour!" says Bianca.

"Time runs slower in a dream," Professor Fennel explains. "5 minutes will give you an hour. And when you dream inside a dream..."

"It feels like 6 hours," finishes Black. "But single-level dreaming is enough to deal with for now."

"Right then," Professor Fennel presses a few buttons on the machine before pressing a large gray button with some finality. "Sweet dreams." Black can hear the smile in her voice as his consciousness slips away.

* * *

They're back at the outdoor cafe. All the tables are still standing and people are continuing with their lives as if nothing happened. Black scans the surroundings before looking down at the same table they were sitting at moments earlier and notes, "Impressive. Even the napkins are embroidered this time. Are you sure this is your first time dream-sharing, Bianca?"

"Wh-yes, I'm very sure," Bianca flusters.

"She likes the details," says Cheren. "I would know. I've edited her fanf—"

"Um." Bianca presses her foot on top of Cheren's as politely as she can while Cheren pretends his foot isn't being crushed. The motion catches the eye of a passerby, who gives the briefest of glances before walking ahead. "Where are the people coming from?" Bianca asks Black.

"From our subconscious. Erm, wait. You're the one providing the dream, so I guess it's just ours." Black waves between him and Cheren. "We—the subjects—make projections that you can talk to, so that's one way you can discover a secret. Otherwise you would create a secure place, like a safe, for the subject to hide their information. Then the extractor breaks in and steals it."

The three trainers begin to walk down the cobblestone street. Cheren walks with a mildly interested look around his surroundings, but also as if it's nothing he'd never seen before. In contrast, Bianca looks at every building, lamppost, and person with equal amounts of amazement and wonder.

"It's so surreal," she tells Black. "My mind made all this, yet I don't know what's inside that building or where we're headed down exactly. This is amazing! With dream-share, who needs pen and paper to express their imagination anymore?"

"You're sure we're the only ones projecting our subconscious here, right?" Cheren asks Black quietly.

Bianca halts in front of an ordinary looking building. "Hmm, I wonder... You said I can control my dream so..." She stares intently at the building, and in the blink of an eye, it is reduced to a gigantic plume of blue smoke. The smoke clears away and reveals a green meadow behind the now empty building lot. "Wow! Look you guys!"

"Bianca." Instead of sharing in her delight, Cheren is nervously looking around. "People are starting to stare. You should be more discreet." Several projections have stopped in their paths to watch.

"It's very impressive," Black says quickly. "but he's right. Major changes like this will draw our subconscious' attention to the dreamer."

"Fine then." Bianca concentrates for a second, and a wall builds itself from the ground up, cutting them off from the street and their projections. Without another word, she leads them into the grassy meadow with a small hop in her steps. As they proceed towards what looks like another small town, Bianca occasionally stops, and without warning entire groves will grow with lightning speed—sometimes right in front of their path.

While Cheren asks Bianca if she can create something without blocking their way, Black admires the curled branches of the newly grown trees. It feels like he is walking through an art nouveau dream. But he catches himself and says to Bianca, "If you keep changing things at this rate, that wall won't be enough to keep our projections from catching you."

"Where are the Pokemon?" Bianca asks. "Are they supposed to be your projections too?"

That's a good question, Black thinks. Where were the Pokemon? Now that she pointed out their absence, the wilderness seems too quiet and almost lifeless.

"Something's not right," he tells both of them, anxiety pooling slowly at the bottom of his stomach. "Bianca, stop altering the dream for now. Let's reach the town first."

"What's wrong?"

"Just follow me." They cut through the grove at a faster pace and arrive at the first house in less than a minute. "Wait." Black recognizes he's been here before. "You recreated my house."

"Well, yeah. This is Nuvema Town."

"No," Black says abruptly with an edge too harsh for his own ears. "You mustn't—you have to imagine new places; never recreate from memory—"

"Isn't it normal to dream about familiar places?" Bianca asks.

"Let's go inside, we can figure things out in your room," says Cheren, and grabs the door handle.

"No!" he says in alarm. Cheren and Bianca look quizzically at him, and he notices that his body is visibly tense but he can't stop himself from being on the defensive. "We can't go in."

Cheren sighs and turns to face him. "Black, you haven't set foot in your own home, let alone Nuvema Town, for a whole year now. At least in a dream, just try—"

Suddenly angry arms grab Cheren and a hand is clamped over his mouth. A furious swarm of projections both human and Pokemon pour out of Black's house at a rate the front door can't accommodate, which is violently ripped off its hinges. Bianca gives an involuntary scream and Black is too paralyzed with shock, a costly delay that allows the projections to grab and twist his arms behind him. "Bianca, run!" he shouts while trying to pull away from a Conkledurr's grip.

But Bianca is trying to pry the projections off Cheren, to no avail. She manages to remove the hand covering his mouth, but he screams at her, "Run!" Bianca finally turns, only to find her way is blocked by hostile projections, which yank her away from Cheren.

"Black, wake us up—" Cheren says before another hand knocks his glasses askew.

"Black—" Bianca begins, but she is interrupted by a hand pulling at her hair, exposing her throat.

Black struggles helplessly against his captors and sees the crowd ebb a little, only to reveal a familiar figure walking towards Bianca. "White?"

"White!" Bianca breathes in both relief and disbelief. Then she sees the knife in her hand and begins to frantically scream, "No, no—"

"No," cries Black. "White, look at me, don't—"

"Black, _wake us up_!"

"White, _look at me_—"

The blade is at Bianca's throat, and White presses—

* * *

a.n: alternate title should be "black has issues"


	4. the plot explained

iv. the plot explained

* * *

Bianca wakes, clutching her throat and startling Professor Fennel.

"What happened? What's going on?" Professor Fennel asks as she rushes over. Black and Cheren wake up nearly a heartbeat later.

"Why didn't you wake us, Black?" Bianca asks shakily.

"The only way to wake up is to wait for the sedative to run out, or die in the dream," says Black.

"I think the more important question is, what exactly happened down there?" Cheren asks angrily. "Why did White show up?"

Black just shakes his head. "I don't know."

"_Black_," says Cheren. "I don't know if you've noticed, but your subconscious managed to mobilize against all of us. How are you going to perform a dream-share _job_ without your projections killing the dreamer on sight?"

"_My_ projections weren't the only ones in the dream," Black snaps.

"So _I'm_ the one who dreamt up a psychotic White capable of murdering her best friend? Black—your issues with returning to your own home are clearly affecting your mind, and I don't think anyone should expose themselves to whatever danger your subconscious is going to conjure up next."

"Look, I was caught off guard—this normally isn't a problem as long as Nuvema Town isn't brought up."

"No Black." Cheren yanks the tube off his arm and stands over Black. "White has been dead for a year now, but you keep slipping into your dreams to avoid that reality. And now White's shade has dominated your subconscious. _That's_ your problem." He storms off.

"Black..." Bianca says beside him. "Is that why you've been sleeping so much? To keep White's memory alive? That wasn't really White down there, you know that right?"

Black runs his hand through his hair and says nothing.

"Fine. I'm going to see if Cheren's alright." Bianca leaves as well.

There is a pause before Professor Fennel finally speaks. "Erm. Will—"

"If...there's the slightest chance of any of them coming back, have them start making their totems. I'm going to speak to Alder." Black gets up to leave.

"Black, will you be alright?"

"I hope."

* * *

"From my time undercover, I myself, disguised as a Plasma member, have discovered that once again, N is not the real leader of Team Plasma. The brains the mass-inception operation are behind, belong to the Shadow Triad."

"Hmm," Alder nods thoughtfully, not really paying attention to the stack of papers in his hand. "What can they hope to gain with 'Pokemon liberation'?"

"Very little evidence for their intentions. My speculations, from the investigative skills my profession requires, point to another version of Ghestis' original plan. With them as the new world leaders."

"How did N start to believe in Pokemon liberation again?" Black asks.

Black is back in Professor Fennel's lab, looking through the hefty file Looker had compiled about N and Team Plasma with Alder and Looker.

"His relationship with his father was...strained. Before Ghestis' death. And to this day. The Shadow Triad played on his guilt for failing to successfully perpetuate the Pokemon liberation campaign. For failing his father. It is how they control him. He is looking for redemption by resuming this campaign, perhaps. Then too late! Ghestis passed away."

"So why is he still pressing forward with it?"

"Too late to back out now." Looker drinks an unknown liquid from his own container. "Too many people expect him to, now."

"Well, I think we can still convince him to drop the whole thing off," says Alder. "Let's get him to finally see his father's love isn't worth it and sever any remaining affection he has for his old man." He sounds a little too cheerful talking about mangling N's only familial ties.

"No, we need to make N see that he's being manipulated by the Shadow Triad. Let's show him the truth," Black suggests.

"Emotional concepts stick better than reason," says Alder. "If my failed inception attempts taught me one thing, it's that there's no reasoning with the subconscious."

"Okay. But we want to use a positive emotion. I think N will be better off if we managed to reconcile him with his father—show him that his father, despite everything, loves him, therefore it's in his best interests to give up on Pokemon liberation. Somehow."

"The man was insane! The only reason why N even _exists_ was so he can rule the world, and if something went wrong, he could slip away and make N take all the blame."

"We could work with that. How about '_My father recognizes his own insanity, and accepts that I will not follow that path anymore._'"

"Hm," says Looker. "Adequate and all, but why inception, firstly, of all things? A decade ago, it was outlawed."

"That's what I asked," Black mutters.

"Well, it's too late to back out now," says Alder, and points to Black. "He expects me to, now."

"Ha ha," Black laughs sarcastically.

"Anyways. From what I've gathered, N is the kind of person who will insist on remaining unchanged despite overwhelming evidence that separating humans and Pokemon is a bad idea. He's established that he will resist change from outside ideas, so this time we'll plant the idea_ inside_ him."

"We_ did_ convince him at one point to reconsider separating humans and Pokemon," counters Black. "It's just that he eventually went back to Ghestis and the Shadow Triad, and they convinced him otherwise."

"Right, so we must destroy his relationship with the Shadow Triad as well."

"Ugh, now it's getting complicated."

"And illegal, it is still," Looker adds.

"Looker!" Alder says as if he just noticed him. "Old friend—master of disguises—seeing how the Shadow Triad are such an influence for impressionable young N, how about you disguise yourself as a one of the Shadow Triad and deliver the emotional concept to him?"

"What about the real Shadow Triad—"

"_In his head_. Where they can't meddle."

"They've meddled in his head already—"

"But they can't meddle_ physically_. Er, physically stop us while we meddle in his head, I mean. I have no doubts about your skills, but even they will notice an extra member in their party."

"Alder, I am a member of the _International Police_ firstly and foremostly. To break the very laws I am to protect, it will not do."

"What, Looker, think of this as a favor, uh, for future-Looker." Black determines this is an appropriate time to take his leave while Alder attempts to convince the officer. "Now-Looker stops N and Team Plasma so future-Looker doesn't have to deal with N _and_ Team Plasma and the world post-mass-inception. With all the free time future-Looker has now, I mean then, he can find him a wife, get laid, raise 17 daughters—"

"Oh, hey," Black finds himself face-to-face with Bianca when he's at the staircase.

"I couldn't stay away," Bianca explains. "The dreaming..."

"Nothing like it, right?"

"Yeah. Nothing holds you back...nothing gets in the way between you and your...dream."

"I'm coming along too." Cheren emerges from the bottom of the stairs to stand beside Bianca. "I...might have crossed a line earlier. But I shouldn't abandon my friend when he needs me."

"No, you were right. I let this problem grow, and I can't drag you guys into anymore danger—"

"So we're here to help. Did you tell Alder...?"

Black shakes his head, "He has other things to deal with," and thumbs at the two men having a heated discussion behind him. "But I think I can suppress her. Just don't tell me the dream layout." He nods at Bianca, who looks excited at the prospect of more creation.

* * *

"When we enter a dream inside a dream...something interesting happens to us."

Black, Alder, Looker, Cheren, and Bianca are all seated in Professor Fennel's lab, surrounded by multiple charts and listening to her explain more about dream-share.

"We're not aware of it because we're 'present' in the next level, but we don't leave a body behind in the previous level. What could be considered our 'soul' is carried in Pokemon."

"Not just any Pokemon, _shiny_ Pokemon," Alder elaborates, but Bianca still has the most confused expression Black has ever seen on her face. And then she asks the most unanswerable question first:

"Why?"

Professor Fennel briefly glances at Looker for a hint, but Looker just shakes his head slightly.

"I hope to one day answer that question myself," she says finally.

"What sort of Pokemon do we become?" asks Cheren.

"It's very random. Some people consistently leave the same Pokemon every time they enter a dream inside a dream, and some people are always changing Pokemon. One thing I do know for sure, is that they will leave behind Pokemon they're most familiar with. So for example, a person from Johto is unlikely to become a Bidoof. Most likely all of us will leave behind a Unovan species, with the exception of Looker."

"So...what do the Pokemon do? Can we still control them?"

"No, they act like normal Pokemon. But like Alder said, they're shiny, so the dreamer can easily identify them. And then it's up to the dreamer to determine what to do with them—either let them run free or capture them for easier management."

"What if they faint?" asks Bianca.

"The person will wake up. Any more questions?"

"How could anyone pass up the opportunity to catch a shiny?" The question came from Alder.

Professor Fennel nearly rolls her eyes. "Moving on then. Looker, if you will explain the plan."

"Yes, yes, the plan." Looker gets up and flips one of the charts. "Our mark: one Natural Harmonia Gropius."

Someone stifles a nearly inaudible giggle. Black looks over and sees Cheren pursing his lips, and vows never to entertain the thought of Cheren giggling ever again.

"The main idea, '_I will no longer pursue Pokemon liberation_', is what we want. His conscious mind will reject, however, this direct concept. Yes. Therefore, through multiple levels, we plant an emotional concept in the subconscious. Each level shall be leading to the main idea eventually. We will attempt three."

"Three?" Black's jaw nearly hits the ground. He turns to Alder. "It's too unstable!"

"We have to plant the idea as deep as possible. I think three is reasonable." And Alder shrugs nonchalantly. "Don't forget, this is Professor Fennel's specialty. She will provide the Dream Mist."

"It's not just ordinary Dream Mist. It's specially brewed for three-tier dreaming!" Professor Fennel bristles with pride.

"Um, shall I continue?" Looker has paused with the chart mid-flipped. When none of them say anything, he goes on, "Yes, very well. Professor Fennel, in the first level, will provide the dream. Have N talk about Ghestis to Looker-as-Shadow Triad member. Suggest Ghestis had other intentions for his son. '_I am not to be king of Team Plasma_.'" Looker points to the first sentence, which Black wrote. It is nearly illegible.

As if to crush whatever is left of Black's non-existent handwriting pride, Bianca whispers, "Ohh, that's what it says."

"Is not, and never will be," Cheren scoffs. "How sad for the king of his own pathetic empire to always be playing the puppet. And to play the role of a puppet twice—shame on him, what a bothersome fool!"

"International Police elite officer, codename Looker, shall be the dreamer of the second level. Seed of doubt to be planted. Make him think he is used by Shadow Triad. Their intentions, best for them, not for him. '_I will not—_'a good word from Cheren'—_play puppet to anyone anymore_.'" Looker uncaps a pen and rewrites the second sentence. It is annoyingly perfect, as if a computer produced it.

"He's sad," says Bianca, but with sorrow in her voice instead of condescending malice. "I kind of hope inception works."

"If it does, we'll have saved him thousands of therapy sessions. And we'll have invented a new kind of therapy we can charge for the price of a thousand therapy sessions!" Alder cackles at his own genius.

"Not like you're starving for money, _Champion_," Cheren remarks.

"Your rain on my money parade is the only certainty in my life, _Cheren_."

Looker ignores them and flips to the final page. "Third level, Champion of Unova, Alder. Whatever we have found, or created, in previous levels in N's mind, will lead to final idea. '_My father doesn't want me to liberate Pokemon_.'"

* * *

a.n: i want a money parade


End file.
